


You Can't Say Ain't Right

by hudsteith



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coma, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hudsteith/pseuds/hudsteith
Summary: Time was a tricky thing. For him it had been only yesterday when he was crossing a street at noon on August 19th, 1977, going to buy a birthday cake. He remembered as if it were happening now the pain he had felt when the car hit him, and the weird sensation of flying for a couple of seconds, thrown forwards by the impact. But, according to the calendar on the wall, for the rest of the world it was now July 9th, 1981.





	1. This world is using me

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, ANOTHER FIC
> 
> First of all: Alona, you know I love you deeply, but this is bigger than us
> 
> Second of all: I know only few things about coma recovering, and I know it's hard to people being at coma for long periods and having fully recover, but hey, it's a fic, so keep your mind open
> 
> Third of all: The timeline isn't equal as reality, but - again - it's a fanfic
> 
> Fourth of all: this fic is angstiest than IDWMF and Back to Home united, so read if you handle it

The light was too bright for his eyes.

He blinked a couple of times, and he wanted so badly to ask someone to turn off the lights, but his throat hurt just at the thought. Too dry to even groan. So, he wanted to lift his hands to protect his eyes from the light, but his arms were too heavy.

So, he moved his head, to see if there was anyone with him to notice what he needed, and then he started to take in the room. White walls, no photographs or anything that he recalled was his. No windows. He wasn’t at home.

Then why was he lying down?

“Oh my god,” whispered a woman, but her voice wasn’t known to him. “He’s awake. Oh, fuck.”

The woman – who was also wearing white clothes – stood up from her chair and ran out of the room, without talking to him. What did he do? He literally just blinked!

When she returned, it was with two more women, both also wearing white. He looked at them without knowing what was happening, but they looked stunned, almost in shock. One was covering her mouth with her hands.

“Call the doctor. Roger Taylor has woken up,” said one of the women.

《•》

Roger realized that he was at a hospital; made sense, because he had been hit by a car. The weird thing was that he wasn’t hurt. No wounds or new scars. His skin was as clear as it always was.

The nurses gave him water, and he thanked them as best he could, but drinking slowly because he coughed after a large sip. He could feel his throat hissing with the lack of drinking. He wondered how long he had been out.

“Oh, I’m not allowed to answer that,” the nurse said with an apologetic smile, after the blond man asked her.

One of the nurses started to massage his feet, and he moaned. It was like the blood hadn’t been flowing there, and now with the touch it was finally getting to his legs and feet. After some minutes, she moved her hands up to his legs, Roger feeling them relax more with the massage.

But something was bothering him: Freddie, Brian and John weren’t there. He knew his bandmates, they wouldn’t leave the room until he woke up. But looking at the clock hanging on the wall, he saw that it was lunch time, and so they were probably eating. Anyway, he couldn’t wait to see their relieved faces when they saw that he was up, soon complaining at the blond about his crossing the street without looking both ways. Especially John.

_ Dear, sweet John. _

Hours came and went, and none of the other Queen members showed up. He was starting to worry. Had something happened to them while he was out? His looks to the door to the room had now increased to every minute. He didn’t know if the burning in his stomach was anxiety or hunger.

Roger smiled when the door finally opened, but it was a man in white clothes, who he imagined was the doctor. At least he’d have answers.

First, of course, the doctor said he was a huge Queen fan; Roger was used to it: people stopping him and asking for autographs and to take a picture with him, girls and blokes saying how the band had changed their lives and that rock had never been the same since they showed up, being a public figure. Most of the time he liked being recognized - it had its perks - but right now he just wanted to know how he was.

The doctor said a lot of medical terms he didn’t understand in a smooth voice, like he was trying to soften the impact. Roger knew something was wrong. He could feel it.

But where was the damage? He was talking, he could probably walk too (the nurse said ‘maybe in a couple of days’) and he wasn’t hurt apparently.

“What’s the problem, Doc?” asked Roger, his voice raw.

“You were in a coma, Mr Taylor,” said the doctor, in a condescending tone that alarmed the blond.

Okay, he had a major in Biology, and so he knew that when the body needed to heal for some reason, doctors could put the patient in an induced coma. Maybe the hit had been bad, and he had needed to heal a bone or a vital organ.

“Okay.” Roger replied. “For how long?”

“Four years,” said the doctor.

Roger opened his mouth, shocked. Not a single thought passed through his mind. Nothing. It was too much to handle. Yeah, Roger had imagined being out for some weeks or months, but never years.

Four years of blankness. Four years of him not moving a finger or speaking a single word. Just breathing, peeing and shitting for four whole years.

Thank God he was in bed, or the force of the revelation that he had been sleeping for that long would’ve made him fall to the ground.

Roger Taylor was lying in a bed not doing anything for all that time. Maybe with the doctors (like the one in front of him) not believing he would wake up again, with nurses admiring him and thinking ‘such a waste’, only to move on in their rounds. For those years, he wasn’t a rockstar or a person, he was probably a number. Patient number whatever, the coma guy.

Time was a tricky thing. For him it had been only yesterday when he was crossing a street at noon on August 19th, 1977, going to buy a birthday cake. He remembered as if it were happening now the pain he had felt when the car hit him, and the weird sensation of flying for a couple of seconds, thrown forwards by the impact. But, according to the calendar on the wall, for the rest of the world it was now July 9th, 1981.

Now it made sense that none of his bandmates were there. It was too long to wait.

“Do you have any questions, Mr Taylor?” asked the man in front of him.

“Can you turn off the lights?” That was the first thing that popped into the blond’s mind.

《•》

Roger had never felt so lonely.

It was too much to comprehend, and yet the doctor made it sound like it was nothing. ‘You were here for 35,040 hours. Cheers.’ That wasn’t what he said, but it’s how sounded to Roger. For the guy in white, it was just another day, but for Roger it was the day his world turned upside down. It wasn’t surprising how much he wanted to throw up.

Even though he didn’t know what, he had missed things. Four years is a lot. People were born, people died, new music came out. He had missed four years of Queen. He didn’t even know if Queen still existed, or if he was still in Queen. That band was a big slice of his life, but now he didn’t know what his life was. Right now, who was he?

The nurses were nice and welcoming, asking him if he needed anything and chatting with him on every round, giving him more massages so that his muscles would get used to moving again, but they were strangers to him. He needed to see someone he actually knew. Someone who he could cry in front of, and could ask ‘what the fuck is this?’

Night was coming when there was a knock on the door. The nurses didn’t do this when they need to enter, and so Roger looked up to see the visitor.

“Rog, dear?” A voice that Roger couldn’t forget made him smile widely.

Freddie came into the room, followed by Brian, who had the same warm smile the blond knew. They walked over to the bed, stopping next to the youngest man, who watched them with watery eyes. Finally something he could recognize, something familiar in the middle of his crashing world. Friends will be friends right to the end, right?

Hot tears rolled down the blond’s pale skin, and with Roger unable to say a word, the other two grew worried. “Rog, are you feeling alright?” Questioned Brian, panicking.

“No! I’m… I’m just glad you’re here,” Roger said, and he felt Freddie’s hand on his, squeezing it.

“Of course we’re here, silly. We came as soon as the doctor called us.” Freddie was crying too.

They were Roger’s best friends. Not just bandmates, they were part of who Roger was. All the fears, all the desires, everything Roger knew about himself Freddie and Brian knew too. The blond was so open with them that sometimes they asked to not be, but it was just the way he was: clear as day, with no covers. They accepted him fully, with every quality and flaw.

And Roger knew they could help him to get through this odd experience, make it less shocking for him.

Freddie had a mustache now, and that was the first thing the blond pointed out, making his friends laugh. The two older men sat in chairs by the bed, asking how the blond was, if he was feeling alright, what the doctor had said to him. The blond still needed to have some tests done before he could go home. He’d stay there for a few more days, but Freddie and Brian assured him that they’d be visiting him daily.

Roger could sense that they were beating about the bush, making small talk with the blond. Freddie mentioned his break-up with Mary, Roger finally feeling confident enough to say that he had never truly liked her, and that now he was dating a nice bloke called Jim; the youngest man was more than okay with meeting the guy in the next few days. Brian showed Roger a picture of his daughter, a really cute three-year-old girl, and Roger remembered that a couple of weeks before the accident, Brian had said that Chrissie was pregnant.

But even though Roger was excited to know about everything that had happened while he was sleeping, he needed to know about something more urgent.

“Yeah, Freddie, I’m gonna visit your new house,” Roger started, cutting off his friend. “but where’s Deaky?”

Of course, the moment Roger woke up he imagined that he would see John Deacon’s face next to him, smiling in relief at him opening his eyes again. When he heard Freddie’s voice he had expected John to walk in after him and hurry to his side, hugging him and grabbing his hand.

But he wasn’t there, which was noted by the blond.

And the way that Freddie and Brian shared a look, a mix of sadness and worry, distressed Roger even more.

Where the hell was his beloved John?

“What happened to John? Why isn’t he here?” Asked Roger, his voice shaking with anxiety.

“Roger, mate, you can’t be upset,” reminded Brian, worried as the blond started to breathe faster.

“I’m upset because you’re hiding something from me. Tell me what’s happened to Deaky!”

“Darling, we’ll tell you.” Freddie spoke, putting a hand on Roger’s shoulder. “But first drink some water, please.” The older man poured water into a glass and handed it to the blond.

“I don’t want water, _goddamnit_, I wanna know where my boyfriend is!”

Brian’s first response was cracking up, quickly muffling the sound with his hand over his mouth. Freddie looked at him confused, and the tallest man commented, “The coma didn’t get rid of his stubbornness.”

In Roger’s mind a lot of things could have happened: John could be dead, he could not talk to Freddie and Brian anymore, they could’ve fought and he could’ve quit Queen, he could’ve forgotten about Roger...a lot of possibilities popped into his head. Any horrible thing to explain why the brunet with grayish-green eyes wasn’t there visiting him the moment he woke up again.

“So, Roger...John isn’t in town. He’s in France,” began Brian, not looking Roger in the eyes.

“France? He doesn’t have any relatives in France.” Roger frowned, not understanding what he was doing there.

“Yeah… but Veronica does,” Freddie said, an unmistakable tone of sorrow in his voice.

Veronica? Roger didn’t know of any friend of John’s called Veronica. It had to be a new one.

“Who’s Veronica?” Roger asked.

“John’s wife,” answered Brian, in a low tone.

“Okay, that’s a shitty joke, Bri. Not cool.”

Roger looked to his friends, both of them looking at him with pity, like they didn’t want to be the ones to tell him. And then he realized.

John was married now.


	2. Rat Race

The days that followed Roger’s awakening were pretty boring. A lot of doctors asking questions to analyze whether he had any neurological damage, gaps in his memory or temporal issues. He joked that he was a drummer and tempo was his specialty, but none of the doctors laughed. Tough crowd. But up to that point he’d been good.

Roger was having a bit of trouble of walking, though. Naturally, after 48 months without walking it was like he was learning to walk again, sometimes having problems with balance or lacking the strength to move his feet, though the nurses were always there to help him. Roger suspected that some of them were flirting with him, and the blond went along with it, (harmlessly, of course).

The man was really stubborn, and even when there wasn’t a nurse around the blond tried to walk alone, but he fell twice; being on the floor, he tried to get up by himself and – obviously – he wasn’t successful. He needed to lay down in the bed, a very tired nurse told him, complaining about him not asking for any help and that he was allowed to get up today, like he was five.

As promised, Freddie and Brian visited him daily, sometimes alone, sometimes together. 

They assured Roger that Queen hadn’t died because of his coma. “No, sir! Last year we came up with the idea to put together a collection of Queen hits, and people loved it! You’ll get your slice of the royalties when you come home.” Roger said that he was afraid that they had replaced him.

“Mate, without you we aren’t Queen. You’re irreplaceable.” Brian smiled.

Freddie’s second visit was with Jim, a nice Irish bloke. The Queen frontman told Roger everything about his and Jim’s pretty odd first encounter, especially because of how Freddie had approached Jim (“Always getting to the point, Freddie,” commented Roger, making them laugh). But despite that, they had been together for almost two years, and Freddie said that Jim had helped him a lot in surviving the moments when he had missed his friend, making Roger cry again. Jim really seemed like a good guy, and he looked like he really loved Freddie, not Freddie Mercury.

Brian spent the time talking about his days at home, and how he and Chrissie might be getting a divorce soon. Roger had known since the beginning that, even though Brian liked his wife very much, love wasn’t enough to keep them together. They weren’t good for each other, and knowing about the divorce was a relief for him. But their marriage issues hadn’t made Brian a bad father. He enjoyed being with his daughter, and now he had to chase after her, because she was so energetic.

Roger really appreciated all the effort Freddie and Brian were putting in to keep him occupied until the day he could go home, and at the end of the day, when his friends said goodbye, he thanked them.

But in the back of his mind something was missing.

He missed John.

When he found out about John’s marriage, on the first day, he was in denial about the fact. After he assured his friends that he was fine and they could go home, Roger stared at the white wall in front of him for two hours, though he wasn’t sure why.

So the next day he didn’t talk about the topic. Anything but that. Not talking about it was a nice way to pretend that it didn’t exist. For a whole day he watched TV, read a book that a nurse had lent him, and talked to Freddie and Jim, laughing at their stories. Like, aside from the coma thing, his life was normal as ever.

Then, one day, he asked for a wheelchair. He knew he still couldn’t handle walking outside the room without help, and so a wheelchair was better than having someone next to him, expecting him to fall. And he’d go insane looking at the same walls for one more minute.

He rolled down the entire floor of the hospital, just to look at people, see other people’s lives without them being the same ones he saw every day, see more than he usually saw. It was like breathing more freely than before, and for him, in his current situation, it was nice.

And then, when he was wheeling back to his room, he saw a magazine. He never liked to read random magazines – just ones about drums and cars – but this one caught his attention because of the picture on it. ‘Where’s Queen?’ was on the front page, and he saw a picture of himself, John, Brian and Freddie at a party. They looked happy.

He took the magazine and headed back to his room, and finally he was sitting on the bed again.

Roger flipped through to the article about Queen, missing the pride of being a rockstar. When you’re a rockstar, men get jealous of you, women want you so badly, and everyone has their eyes on you; for someone like Roger, who liked having his ego stroked a lot, being seen was nice.

The article was just like the other ones the drummer had read before. Their full names, where they were born, the color of their eyes, et cetera. A couple of photos were there, showing how big they had become, their concerts getting more and more extravagant as they got more famous. It was part of the business: you needed to entertain the crowd, in a way no one else could. And Queen knew how to do that, in its very particular way.

Having a frontman like Freddie, with a unique voice, with Brian on the guitar, playing his elaborate solos, John playing his insane bass riffs and Roger making magic on the drums, Queen had already made history, and the blond was so happy to see that, even though the band had been inactive for four years, people still wanted to hear about them. The article also mentioned ‘Queen – Greatest Hits’. Roger needed to ask Freddie or Brian to hear the album, to listen to what songs they chose to go on it. He missed his own music, in fact.

Obviously, the article mentioned his accident. Thankfully it seemed that there were no recordings of him on the street, or the ambulance taking him away, or anything about that day. There was only a picture of him in 1977, smirking at the camera (“like he wanted to make out with the camera,” teased Freddie once). The next part was stranger for him.

> _ Roger Taylor, Queen’s 31-year-old drummer, after the tragic accident in which he was violently hit by a car, fell into a coma , and doctors still do not know when or if the man will wake up. Not only is he an amazing drummer, but he also wrote so many of Queen’s hits, and it is a loss for the music industry. _
> 
> _The band still refuses to hire another drummer or to break up. Maybe they still have some hope that Taylor will come back and Queen will reunite as they were._

It wasn’t light reading. Seeing someone else say that you might well wake up again was just too morbid, even more so when you read this after waking up from a coma. And then he realized: most of the world didn’t know that he was up again. For the Royal Family (what Freddie liked to call their fans), the Queen drummer was still asleep, with no coming back date.

After some minutes he started reading again, looking at the rest of the article. Now they were focusing on the other Queen members. Freddie, because of what they termed his ‘lifestyle’, had a full page about his insane parties, many partners - mostly men - and his famous friendships, like Princess Diana and Elton John. Roger laughed about it; Freddie liked to live fully and he had never been ashamed of it. But now, even though the magazine didn’t want to say it, Freddie was happy as Jim’s boyfriend. But talking about a taken gay man didn’t sell, so they had stuck with the filthy part.

Fucking bastards.

Brian, on the other hand, had a family that looked like it could have come straight out of a commercial. Smiling and beautiful, if Roger didn’t know all the problems behind his friend’s marriage, he could have been deceived by the photos. The couple was smiling at the camera in one picture, like they knew the roles they needed to play, at least in public. The guitarist had confessed that he was having an affair with an actress whose Roger couldn’t recall, but Brian had said that he really loved her.

The last page was reserved for John. Roger’s breath sped up when he saw the picture of John onstage. Coy, as always, jamming on his bass perfectly, sometimes dancing around, getting into the rhythm and bouncing alone. If Roger closed his eyes he could see the bass player having a good time deftly fingering the strings of his bass, his fingers moving so fast. It was a lovely memory, especially when Roger remembered the vision he had every time: John’s bum moving in those ridiculously tight trousers the man liked to wear.

Roger touched the picture, caressing John’s cheek like he could touch his real cheeks, missing the softness of his skin. He missed a lot of things about John, but he particularly missed his skin. Warm, smooth, delicate. The blond smiled alone when he remembered what used to happen when he touched John’s skin: he would shiver, especially when Roger touched his belly,a sensitive spot of him.

As John had always preferred, the article didn’t talk much about his personal life. The bassist was never as public a person as the other three – he liked to be in Queen, but not be a rockstar – and so he left that part to his bandmates. It mentioned the songs he wrote for Queen, the bass he liked to play, and what he was doing currently.

That was the worst part.

> _ John Deacon is now married to Veronica Tetzlaff, a teacher in training, and they live in London. John has never showed an interest in working on other music projects besides Queen, and he is living happily with his new family. _

Happily.

There was no photo of Veronica, and maybe that was for the best, because Roger wouldn’t like to start crying over the picture of John’s wife.

The drummer hadn’t even noticed how loudly he was crying until a nurse opened the door and looked at him concernedly. “Mr Taylor, what’s wrong?”

“Get out!” screamed the man, and the nurse didn’t have to be told twice, closing the door again.

He tried to pretend for as long as he could. Pretend that his life wasn’t fucked up. Because he could survive with being in a coma for four years, literally taking baby steps all over again, the stress of being in a hospital and the medical stuff that he had never liked. But he’d do that without complaining (too much) if John were there with him.

The brunet was always the person who calmed him down, who knew what he needed to hear and who did what Roger wanted to relax. When Roger was too stressed, John ran a bath. When Roger was too anxious, John massaged his back. When Roger was too whiny, John fucked him into the mattress.

But, aside from all of this, John had Roger’s heart, since the moment the drummer set his blue eyes on him. He was gone when John showed his smile, with that adorable gap between his front teeth. And for some time Roger had known that he had John’s heart.

So knowing that now John’s heart wasn’t his anymore made Roger cry, tears wetting his face with no signs of stopping. If Roger thought that tearing the magazine could stop the pain in his heart he’d do it already, but he just wanted to sob.

A little voice inside his head kept telling Roger that this was his fault, because he had taken so long to wake up, and so John had just grown tired and moved on.

_He fucking moved on_.

And now, even with all the fame, success and money that Queen could give him, Roger would never be truly happy again.

A knock at the door made Roger forget his sorrow for a moment. He looked at the clock on the wall and noted that it wasn’t the time that Freddie or Brian usually visited him. He wiped away the tears – it didn’t matter who was there, they didn’t need to know about his misery.

The door opened slowly, and someone entered the room. Roger’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hi, Rog.” John said with a smile.


	3. A heartbeat pulse

_John woke up groaning loudly. He was having a really good dream, even though right now he couldn’t remember what had happened. He just remembered the happiness he was feeling, and now the brunet had a smile on his face._

_Blinking his eyes open lazily, he found someone watching him, and when he looked directly into their eyes the person smiled fondly._

_“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you,” the man sang, in a low tone, while John stretched across the bed, “Happy Birthday dear John… Happy Birthday to you.” And he leaned in to the birthday boy, kissing his lips._

_John smiled during the kiss, never having felt so complete in his entire life._

_“You know you spoil me, right?” Said John, his eyes shining when they looked back at each_   
_other._

_“It’s your birthday, Deaky, so I’m allowed to spoil you for the rest of the day.” Roger smirked, and moved in the sheets, climbing on top of the brunet. “In fact, I’d like to give your first gift.” The boy bit his lower lip, rocking his crotch against John._

_“I’d like that.” John was now more awake, putting his hands on Roger’s waist and kissing him again._

_After some amazing sex, they took a bath and spent the rest of the morning watching TV, cuddling, Roger inhaling the scent of soap on John’s neck and ocasionally kissing him._

_Before lunch, Roger said he had ordered a birthday cake for his boyfriend - John melted at the gesture, because the blond knew how much he liked cake - and he said he just needed to pick it up._

_“Are Freddie and Brian coming for lunch?” Asked John, going to the kitchen to grab some plates._

_“They said they would. So, I’m off, John,” said Roger, walking to the front door._

_“Ok, Rog. Please don’t take too long.” John looked at his boyfriend, holding the plates._

_“Relax, Deaky. I won’t.” the drummer winked at him and left._

Yeah, Roger had taken too long.

The blond was sitting on the bed, looking at the man in front of him without blinking. Maybe was just his imagination, and if he blinked John would disappear.

The world outside the room could be in chaos, for all they knew, but inside there was just silence. Roger felt like he wasn’t breathing anymore, and the brunet didn’t dare look away. It looked like a comedy, but their meeting wasn’t funny at all.

With some difficulty, Roger got up from the bed, and John moved slightly, worried that the blond might fall, but the blond just waved him off, signalling to him not to bother; he wanted to do this by himself. So the drummer, with erratic steps, walked slowly to John, who was looking anxious, taking deep breaths, not knowing what to do.

When he was just a few inches away from John, Roger stopped, looking at him. Sea meeting land again. They were almost the same height, so there was no need to look up, being on the same level.

Roger raised his hands, catching John off guard, and he ducked his head; as soon he realised that the drummer wasn’t going to hit him, he stayed still. Roger’s hands were still moving up and up, until they met John’s hair. Roger frowned when he felt the texture, softly grasping it.

“What the hell happened to your hair?” Asked Roger, intrigued.

“Oh. It’s a perm,” answered John, his voice smooth just as the drummer remembered.

The blond spent a little while touching the brunet’s hair, remembering that John had already had long hair, short hair, really short hair (his fans even making jokes about it), but he had never imagined John getting a perm. His hair was always soft, but now it looked and felt fluffy and spongy. His eyes didn’t leave John’s hair when his hands did.

“It’s funny,” commented Roger, more to himself than to the other man.

“Do you not like it?” Questioned John.

“Oh, no. I mean, it suits you.” The blond nodded while he spoke, assuring John that he truly did like his new hairstyle.

“I got it a few months ago. Freddie liked it. ‘Very disco’ was what he said.” A hint of a laugh appeared, but it didn’t grow.

“Is disco still a thing?”

“It is.”

Roger snorted, and after a moment he looked at the ground. He could feel John’s eyes on him, but it was too hard for him to see the eyes he had always loved to gaze into and not to be allowed to do anything else. His body was clamouring for John’s touch, but he couldn’t express his desire.

“How long have you been...” John started, but finishing the question seemed hard.

“A few days. Freddie and Brian came the same day,” Roger replied, feeling a burning sensation in his eyes.

No, no, _no_. It wasn’t the time to cry again.

“I guess Freddie tried to contact me that same day, but I was… er...”

Finally. The moment that Roger had never wanted to come. The moment in which he needed to deal with the truth.

John’s present had now become more present than ever.

“Holidaying. He said,” Roger finished for John. His throat was aching, the muscles contracting. A battle he’d lose before long.

The drummer saw John open his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but close it again when nothing came to mind.

It was a painful scene to watch. Both men were uncomfortable with the situation that was unfolding. John had always run away from conflict, or anything that would give him a headache. And now he could feel a gigantic headache brewing.

How on earth could he say sorry to his boyfriend, who had just woken up from a coma, for getting married while he was sleeping?

John stared at his hands, trying to find words that made sense, but now nothing was making sense to him. His world had been crushed four years ago, and now he had to look at his past. A past with blond hair and blue eyes.

A past that he had never truly forgotten.

He craved the feeling of the other’s arms around him, but he couldn’t ask Roger for that. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“So, do you know everything?” John inquired, still looking at his hands.

Roger wished he had another answer to give. He had never wanted so badly to return to those hours when he hadn’t known about John. Such a good time.

“I do,” The blond breathed. “It’s okay, John.”

But what could Roger do right now? Sob in front of John, remind him of the grave of sadness that he was in right now? John didn’t have to explain himself anymore, or make Roger feel better about anything. It wasn’t John’s responsibility to comfort him anymore.

Roger had taken too long.

This made John look at Roger again. Roger’s tone tone was casual, almost unconcerned, and when the brunet glanced at him, the drummer just shrugged, tilting his head in pure nonchalance. John wanted to laugh – Roger always was such a bad liar – but he didn’t. The moment was too serious to be sarcastic.

“Is it?” Insisted John, raising an eyebrow.

“If I can survive a coma, I can survive anything.” Roger gave him his best fake smile.

It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spoken in four years, John was still very good at reading Roger. He remembered his body language, and how to detect when the blond was trying too hard – maybe that’s why they had dated once, because Roger was like clear water to him – and right now the drummer was trying to get John to buy his lie that everything was fine.

But everything was far from fine.

John felt his mouth water when Roger looked at him intensely. Something inside him grew warmer.

“I really don’t know what to say, what to do,” commented John, his voice breaking at the end.

“Did you want me to wake up?” It was silly, but Roger wanted to know the answer anyway.

“What kind of question is that?” John rolled his eyes, amused. “Of course, Rog. I wanted that so badly.”

“But now I’m awake.”

“Yes, you are.”

“And even though you’re in ‘81, married and so forth, I’m still in ‘77, when we’re dating and when you’re in love with me.”

It was clear that John was hurt. How couldn’t he be, when Roger was opening his heart to him shamelessly about himself, _about them_? He hadn’t had to deal with this for a while, not in words at least. It had been just a few months since John had started to sleep well again, without seeing the drummer’s features falling off a dark cliff, his constant nightmare.

But now John’s nightmare was another one. Now he needed to talk about the mess he had made.

“Please, Rog, don’t do this to me.” begged John, his face disfigured in his woe.

“I’m not doing anything.” The drummer tilted his head, feigning innocence.

“You were my first love, Rog. You always will be.” John didn’t restrain himself and the brunet moved his hand to Roger’s cheek, caressing his face.

The blond closed his eyes at the action, humming at the touch. The callouses on John’s fingertips were still there, some still fresh – the blond knew John, and even without playing with Queen, he would never stop playing his bass. It was one of his passions.

Roger used to be the other one.

When he opened his eyes again, John was watching him, curious, like he wanted to know what was crossing his mind, what he was thinking. They used to talk about everything, about cars and university and love and trauma and everything in between. Maybe he had missed this too – Roger hadn’t been awake for long, but he already missed their talks, and he kind of suspected that John would be the only person that could actually understand what he was feeling.

Don’t get him wrong, the drummer loved Freddie and Brian with all his heart, but the connection that Roger and John shared was one-of-a-kind. They couldn’t find another person to replace them; it would be impossible. They had probably realised that in the moment that their eyes met and their hands touched.

_“I’m sick of this search for a bass player. I don’t think we’ll ever find them,” groaned Roger, after a week of putting posters all over his university with Freddie._

_“But we need one if we want to have a band, blondie,” Freddie reminded him._

_“I hope Tim’s band fails so he can see what he’s done to me.”_

_“How spiteful of you, Rog.”_

_The drummer just snorted and kept sticking the posters to the walls. The real problem was that none of the previous bassists had been good enough for Queen: if they were good players, their personalities weren’t right, and if their personalities were alright, they were terrible players. Roger couldn’t understand what was so tricky about playing bass. ‘It’s only got four strings,’ he had said to the last bassist, and he had almost been punched by the guy._

_A couple of days later, Brian had said that he knew a bloke that might fit in with the band, making Freddie shout with excitement, and Roger had just rolled his eyes, not thinking it worth getting their hopes up with this one. The blond was tweaking the drumkit when he heard the sound of heels in the auditorium they had borrowed for the audition. John Deacon was the bloke’s name._

_He turned around to see the man, and he saw a brunet talking to Brian and Freddie, smiling shyly at the frontman and looking amused at his flamboyant behavior. His hair was as long as Roger’s, and looked soft enough for Roger to want to touch it, and his cheeks reddened when Brian pointed to Roger, perhaps introducing him to the bloke._

_By that time Roger had already realised that he liked girls and boys. If they had a nice body and pretty lips, he didn’t care if they had a beard or breasts._

_John had a nice body and pretty lips._

_The blond walked over to the group, putting on his most charming smile, welcoming John. “I bet they’re talking about how amazing drummer I am,” Roger started, extending his hand. “I’m Roger.”_

_“They were actually talking about how you’re just alright, but you’re not the one having the audition, so it’s okay.” John’s voice was strong and thick. The brunet grabbed Roger’s hand, squeezing it slightly. “I’m John.”_

_His skin was warm, and Roger tried not to think about how nice John squeezing his hand was, and if he squeezed like that in other situations. But his naugthy thoughts vanished when John smiled, showing the gap between his teeth._

_That was the most adorable thing Roger had ever seen in his short life._


	4. You've got the power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry by the missing. I do this a lot.

Finally the day to go home came. Roger was trying too hard to be nice to the doctors and nurses, but if he stayed there one more day he would probably throw a chair at someone.

  
Freddie and Brian  picked him up at the hospital, and drove him home.  At the time of  the accident, he and John had had a nice house in the suburbs but, for obvious reasons, John wasn’t there anymore. But they said that someone had been taking care of the house ever since. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

  
When they arrived, Roger got out of the car and looked at his house. It was stupid how much he had missed the place. The last time he left he hadn’t even looked at the fa ç ade, and now he was crying over the beauty of the house’s  paint job .

  
The front door was open, and Roger’s face  brightened  when he saw his sister smiling at him. 

“Claire,” he said, trying to wipe the tears away, but still crying  non-stop .

  
The blond woman walked over to him and hugged him,  patting him on the back softly to comfort him . “I missed you, big brother,” she said, when she stood back and cupped his face in her hands.

  
Freddie and Brian just helped with the hospital baggage, letting the siblings have a moment alone. The house, as Roger remembered it, was the same. Claire hadn’t had the heart to touch anything, and he appreciated that. Every piece of that house was  in exactly the spot it was meant to be , just as Roger and John had wanted. Maybe one day, when he was stronger than now, he’d change some things, because every room reminded him of John.

  
Claire started to give him some news: their mother already knew about Roger, but she was at  a friend’s house and it had taken  a few  days for her to find out about her son ; she promised that she would be there the next day . His sister had taken care of his garden, watering the flowers and planting some things there – Roger didn’t mind, as it was beautiful anyway. And  she was seeing someone , talking for hours to the guy.

  
The  lighthearted  talk and drinking  milky  tea with his younger sister made the drummer feel like he had never left.

  
At  one  point, when they were sitting in the living room, Roger  asked  why Claire hadn’t visited him in the hospital when he woke up. “I wasn’t strong enough to do it, Rog. So I thought I’d be more helpful here, organizing your house for when you came back.” She looked down, and Roger believed her – he knew that his sister was too sensitive for some topics, especially family  matters  – and she added, “even when you were in a coma I didn’t like going to the hospital very often, and so I always asked the boys to  update  me. They  visited  every week, while I went every month.”

  
“That’s okay.” Roger shrugged. “At least Freddie and Brian caught you up.”

  
“And John.”

  
Roger was surprised. He hadn’t expected that.

  
“Did John come to visit me? Like, all the time?” Asked Roger.

  
“Yes,” smiled Claire, and the  blonde  saw her brother’s cheeks  reddening . “He never let anyone cut your hair, or shave your beard, or cut your nails. He wanted to do that. He visited you at least once a week, sometimes more.”

  
The drummer felt  himself growing  warmer inside, a little proud knowing that John, in some way, cared about him. 

  
“How are you, with everything  that’s been going on?” Claire sounded worried.

  
“It’s weird. Before this week it’s like it was John’s 26th birthday, but now John is 29.” Roger knew how crazy it sounded. “And sometimes in my mind I think I’m 28 but I’m actually 31, and it’s so  weird .”

  
But soon  he felt a punch  in the gut : reality  had brought him back to his senses.

  
“Do you know how long it took?”  Asked  Roger. When Claire frowned he  added , “How long John waited for me?”

  
Claire had grown up with Roger, and so she knew that at some  point  he’d  want  to know. The woman loved her brother so much, and she knew how painful it was for him to ask about that.

  
“A year,” answered Claire. “The first year was awful for John, Rog, I need to  make that clear . It took weeks before John could get  into a car again, he had a lot of nightmares, and he wore your clothes most of the time. We kind of helped each other to cope, you know.”

  
“Do you still talk to him?” Roger shot back.

  
“Yeah. Our friendship got stronger. I visited his house when his son was born,” said Claire.

  
When Claire looked at Roger again  she saw in his eyes that this news had him completely dazed . Oh, shit. No one had told him about that.

  
John had a family. Not only a wife, but a son too. 

  
He had a life after Roger.

  
“Amazing. Just amazing,” Roger mouthed, looking at his own lap. He put his cup of tea on the table and got up. “I need to rest.”

》•《

  
Claire  mostly left Roger in peace during the afternoon, occasionally going to his room and seeing if he needed anything. But right now he just needed to be alone – part of him felt selfish, because she had spent four years without him, but the blond needed  some  time to deal with the new information.

  
In less than a week he had found out that he had been in a coma for almost 48 months, that his boyfriend had just got married, and now that he had already had a son. He had never pictured himself as a weak person, but even in his stronger days  he couldn’t have handled this.

  
The drummer was in his room, sitting by the the window, watching the  branches of a nearby tree swinging in the wind. He stayed like this for hours, sometimes crying, sometimes just mute. He had lived with John for six years, and in a blink of an eye –  or so it seemed to him at least – Roger had lost him. 

  
Roger knew that he couldn’t have ask that much of John. He couldn’t say to John that he should have waited for him. It was ridiculous – he had been in coma, he could have never woken up again. Roger loved John enough to understand that he had needed to move on. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to know that now John kissed another  pair of lips and he had fathered  a child with someone else. Roger still wanted to be part of John’s life,  and going by what Claire had said to him, John still wanted to be part of his life.

  
“Rog?” the blond looked behind him and saw that his sister  had appeared at the door. “There’s a visitor for you.”

  
He stood up and saw John walking into the room. He had a warm smile  on his face , but still  seemed  a bit uncomfortable around  Roger .

  
“So you’re home,” commented John,  moving from foot to foot nervously . “Claire called me and I just wanted to see how everything was here.”

  
John looked around, probably looking at the empty spaces that before were filled with his things: the bass in the bedroom corner close to his amp, his  record player and records next to the wardrobe, some books he liked to read before bed on the nightstand. Roger had already noted  their absence  too, missing all the evidence that John had lived there.

  
But now he didn’t live with Roger anymore.

  
“This room is so big, I’m just realizing that now,” Roger said while he looked around. “I’m fine, John. Thank you for  stopping  by.”

  
The drummer politely invited John to have a beer with him.  If there was one thing that hadn’t changed, it was that John still liked to drink a bottle of beer at around five, and so they went downstairs, going to the kitchen and grabbing two beers. Roger walked out to the garden, John following him. Claire was cleaning the place up, putting dead  branches  in a bag. Roger took a long sip, and the bassist looked at him.

  
“Can you  even  drink alcohol?” He asked.

  
“I don’t know, and I actually don’t care,” Roger said, sharply. “Do you know something I noticed? The flower bed you used to take care of died. Claire said you didn’t want to replant it.”

  
John remained silent, drinking his beer slowly, but he knew that Roger was watching him, waiting for an answer, stubborn as always. “What can I say? I didn’t want to take care of anything at that time.”

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
John looked at Roger like he had lost his mind. “For what?!”

  
“For having caused everyone so much pain.”

  
“It was an accident, and you’re the one who was in a coma. You’re the last person who should be apologizing.”

  
“And someone does need to apologize?”

  
“Yeah, I need to.”

  
John  headed inside , Roger going after him. The drummer saw the other man’s back trembling during the walk, and when they reached the living room and John turned around, Roger saw that his face was wet, his eyes red.

  
The blond remembered that John needed to just cry about everything he wanted to, because it was impossible for him to talk while he was crying. So he just waited, watching the brunet covering his face with his hands, sobbing quietly, sniffing sometimes. Roger felt the need to hug John, but he thought it’d be too invasive during his private moment.

  
After a couple of minutes John took deep breaths, wiping the tears  from  his face, trying to  pull  himself together again.

  
“I’m sorry, Rog,” murmured John.

  
“For what?” Roger had some suspicions about what John  meant , but he needed to hear it from the brunet  himself .

  
“For everything. For not waiting.” John took a step forward.

  
“You didn’t know how long it would take for me to wake up, or if I’d wake up at all .” 

  
“But I should have.” Another step.

  
“Do you regret not waiting?”

  
Now it was time for Roger to take a step forward. They were in front of each other again, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, trying to find the warmth they had before. But after  such  trauma, could it have survived?

  
John couldn’t answer the drummer honestly. Because he regretted it… but at the same time he didn’t. And if he said the last part to Roger he could start sobbing again.

  
But Roger sensed it, and he smiled, even though he wasn’t happy at all. “I get it. You have a son now. It’s different.”

  
John blinked, surprised. “So you know?”

  
“Why didn’t you tell me about him? Did you really think you could hide him from me forever?” 

  
“I don’t know what I thought. I… I just wanted things to be normal between us.”

  
“John, things can’t be ‘normal’ between us, not with our history. We never were just mates. We’re more than that, even though you’re married.”

  
Unable to hold himself back  any more, John pulled Roger in by his waist, their bodies  crashing  against each other. Roger just had  mere  seconds to realize what was going on,  as  he felt John’s hands  grasping his hips,  his desire for Roger obvious , the bass player swallowing dryly as his eyes closed. The blond cupped his face, leaning in to John, his lips millimeters from the brunet’s .

  
Both their mouths watered, lips trembling out of anxiety and desire. They felt  their breaths between them, so close to each other they could breathe into the other’s mouth, hot shots of air touching their skin. In an involuntary movement, John’s tongue poked out, wetting his lips, and it slightly touched Roger’s lips, just for a fleeting second. The brunet opened his eyes again, staring at the older man, so fucking close it was unbearable for Roger.

  
“Please, leave, or else I can’t restrain myself.” Roger’s voice broke  as he asked . “And I know you won’t be okay with it later.”

_   
_ _ After the audition, Roger and John had become inseparable. Maybe because they really needed to get along – now they were the rhythm section pair – or maybe because John knew so much about cars and all the tricky things about their engineering, amazing Roger with his knowledge about it. _

_   
_ _ Or maybe because Roger loved how John’s eyes wrinkled slightly at the edges every time he made a joke, and John laughed. _

_   
_ _ They could spend hours chatting  _ _ away non-sto _ _ p, and at first Brian and Freddie had been jealous of how well they got along, but after a couple of days they  _ _ had grown to understand  _ _ the kind of bond Roger and John  _ _ had formed _ _ , and they had just forgotten about it. _

_   
_ _ The drummer was at his flat with John talking about aliens and all the theories he knew about them, something he could chat about for hours without getting tired, and John was just listening to him, sitting  _ _ opposite  _ _ the blond, smiling at the passion  _ _ with which _ _ Roger was speaking. There were few things Roger really liked, but everything  _ _ he did was something he adored to the fullest. _

_   
_ _ And, without any warning, while Roger was saying  _ _ something  _ _ about how he’d like to go to the cinema to watch a movie about spaceships and aliens, John just leaned in and kissed him on the lips. _

_   
_ _ It was just a long peck, Roger  _ _ staring with wide eyes _ _ at John, who was enjoying the kiss. When the brunet  _ _ sat  _ _ back, he looked at the drummer, who was still  _ _ gaping at him _ _ . John just opened his mouth, shocked at what he had just done. “Roger, I –” _

_   
_ _ But the blond just  _ _ smiled  _ _ a genuine smile and exclaimed, “Finally!” And he kissed John. _

_   
_ _ John, realizing that Roger liked him back, deepened _ _ the kiss. _ __   



	5. A feeling that just won't quit

Soon the press discovered that Roger Taylor had woken up from his coma and had returned to his home. Apparently after he had left the hospital, the confidentiality had ended, too.

Now a bunch of reporters and paparazzi were in front of his house, asking everyone who went in how the Queen drummer was, if the band would get back together, and other things. When Roger’s mum arrived it was tumultuous.

To forget about the fuss the press was making, Roger decided to write. In fact, there were some lyrics drumming around in his head, but until then he had only completed a few verses. Roger snorted when he realized that he was writing a disco song. He wasn’t used to writing dance songs, and even though the lyrics weren’t as happy as the melody, he liked what he had so far. The drummer knew what he meant with the lyrics. Too obvious.

After two days of being in the news, Roger thought he needed to do something. So, he called Queen to a special meeting at his house. Freddie Mercury, Brian May and John Deacon going to Roger Taylor’s house would be enough to feed the news for the rest of the  
weekend.

“They didn’t waste any time,” commented Brian, stepping into the house, still hearing the reporters shouting his name, asking him to talk to them.

“It’s the worst part of the business, indeed,” nodded Freddie, going to sit on the couch.

John sat quietly, and Roger knew that he hadn’t been good at running away from him during their last meeting. But today wasn’t (fully) about them.

“But we need them, right?” Roger spoke up, getting their attention. “I thought we could use the press in our favour this time.”

“What do you mean?” Asked John, intrigued.

“As far as I know, Queen is still alive.” Roger watched the other three men nod at him. “So we can make a new album, and use the news of me coming back to life to help us. I mean, we need something to keep people with us.”

“But… are you okay with that kind of marketing, Roger?” Brian looked really bothered by the tone Roger had used to talk about his coma incident.

“So the ‘special meeting’ was about this?” John sounded sad.

“Yeah, why?” Roger didn’t understand him.

“We thought it was about your party,” Freddie clarified.

“My party?” Now the drummer was really puzzled.

John looked at Brian and Freddie, frowning, and then at the blond. “Rog, today is your birthday.”

Roger had always loved his birthday - he liked to have all his friends around to have a nice party and spend some quality time with them - but this year he didn’t feel like today was his birthday, and so he had avoided thinking about turning 32. Especially because he didn’t feel like he was 32.

“Oh, that.” Roger flicked his hand casually, and John looked more shocked. “Anyway, I’m already writing a new song, do you want to see, lads?” Roger was already pulling the lyrics out of his pocket and handing them to Brian.

The guitarist looked to the rest of the band helplessly, but Freddie just nodded, and the curly-haired man looked at the lyrics. While Brian read through the piece of paper, Roger explained the melody, drumming and clapping his hands, Freddie looking ablaze at his friend’s energy. John felt Brian looking at the page, and then at him, and then at the page again.

Oh no. It was about him.

John walked over to Brian, sitting down next to his mate, and started to read the lyrics along with the older man.

> _Action this day_   
_ Action this night_   
_ Oh we’ve gotta learn to love to live_   
_ You can’t say it ain’t right_   
_ Action this day_   
_ Action this night_   
_ Oh you’ve got the power, you’ve got the power_   
_ You’ve got the power to love to live_   
_ You can’t say it ain’t right_

“I have to go. Happy birthday, Roger,” John said quickly, going to the front door, not giving the others time to do anything.

“How is Roger Taylor?”

“Is Queen comeback a reality?”

“Is your relationship with Mr Taylor still as strong as before?”

John couldn’t see who asked what, he just made his way to his car, restarting it to go home. He was about to scream, but he couldn’t. Not now. 

He wanted to be close to Roger, to talk to him, but every time it was worse than before. His body asked for something he couldn’t do anymore. It’d be cruel to him, to Roger, and to Veronica, even though his instincts told him to do it.

On his way home, he passed the hospital Roger had been in for four years. It was the place he had hated most in all the world, feeling a pain each time he passed that was bigger than the last time. Watching Roger lying in a bed, motionless, made him feel small, and like a failure. Incapable of protecting the man he loved.

_The first time he went through that door, John’s eyes were already wet. The brunet had been _ _crying since the moment Freddie has come to his house and said that Roger had had an _ _accident. He had run like a mad man into the hospital, asking for Roger. It didn’t matter if _ _people would judge him for it, he just had to know how his boyfriend was._

_Roger’s head had been bandaged, his lips bore two fresh cuts, and John could see some _ _red marks on his body. Freddie hugged him, John’s tears soaking through his shirt._

_A man approached them, saying that he was Roger’s doctor. He said that they were still _ _running some tests to find out if there was any internal damage, but that his biggest worry _ _was Roger’s head._

_“When the ambulance arrived, there was blood running out of his ears. Mr Taylor hasn’t _ _woken up ever since,” the doctor said, in a blank tone._

_“And what the hell does that mean?” askedJohn, the pain in his heart increasing._

_“We can’t be sure yet, but he is probably in a coma.” The man gave him a sad smile._

_“In a coma? Like he...” John’s eyes widened._

_“Like he could wake up today, or tomorrow, or next month, or even next year. We can’t be _ _sure.”_

_“Maybe...” now John’s voice was just a whisper. “Maybe never?”_

_The doctor nodded. “Maybe never. I’m sorry.”_

_John was never a man to sob, but just then he was a fountain of tears in Freddie’s arms. The _ _doctor left the room just as Brian entered. He looked devastated too, and squeezed John’s _ _shoulder, comforting his friend._

_After some moments, the brunet asked to have a moment with Roger, Freddie and Brian _ _accepting and going out to the waiting room. John walked over to the bed, where Roger lay _ _with his eyes closed, not moving a muscle. It was so odd: even when sleeping Roger never stayed still, and right then he was just breathing. _

_Nor moving his eyes behind their lids, not _ _murmuring in his sleep._

_He looked almost dead._

_“I didn’t want the damn cake!” John snapped, furious. “I just wanted to spend the whole day _ _with you, but you wanted to give me this damn cake! Why, Roger?”_

_John fell to his knees, holding Roger’s hand, crying again._

_Six years together and he had never had to imagine a life without the drummer. Not even a _ _day had passed with the thought of how it would be to live without Roger by his side, smiling, _ _hugging him, kissing him. John smelled his hand, and his perfume was still there. Damn _ _intoxicating Taylor._

》•《

_Right then, looking at the door, John felt weak. It was a stupid feeling – how could he be _ _scared to talk to someone who couldn’t reply to him? But it was still Roger. It still meant _ _something._

_Taking deep breaths, John opened the door. Roger was there, breathing in and breathing _ _out. His hair was getting longer, he needed to cut it next week. Even though he didn’t want to _ _see Roger like this, going to the hospital every week calmed him down. Sometimes he’d _ _spend all day in the room, looking at Roger’s features, even though the blond didn’t know he _ _was there._

_John moved the chair closer to the bed, and then _ _caressed the drummer’s face, smiling _ _fondly at him. His lips were dry and chapped, and John remembered then how much he liked _ _to kiss those lips. He missed everything about Roger – his smile, his wisdom, his voice. God, _ _how much John missed Roger’s voice in his ear, whispering ‘good morning’ every day_ _._

_His heart hurt at the memory._

_“Hi, Roger,” John started. It wasn’t unusual to him – sometimes John talked to Roger, even _ _though he never got a response – and today he has felt the need to talk to the blond. “It’s _ _been a year since you’ve been like this, and it has been awful for me. I –” John could feel his _ _heart racing and his breath getting short, but he couldn’t lose control. Some moments later _ _he spoke again. “I want to wait for you, I really do. But Freddie and Brian were worried about _ _me, and so Claire. They said I needed to go out, to breathe, to see other people that _ _weren’t them.”_

_John stopped to see Roger’s chest rising and falling. Such a normal movement, and _ _sometimes John wanted to see something different there. Any time he detected a weird _ _movement or sound, John grew hopeful. The doctors said that he shouldn’t._

_“And I met someone. She’s nice, she likes disco. This made John laugh briefly, and his eyes _ _fell again to Roger. “And it’s nice to talk to her. It’s light.” A moment of silence, like John used _ _to do during his monologues. “I won’t let her come here and see you. Ever.”_

_He kissed the drummer’s forehead. It was warm. Like Roger’s body always was._

》•《

_John didn’t have time to look at the door. In all honesty, he didn’t think that he should be _ _there that day._

_He was dressed up, his hair well combed and an expensive suit on._

_The brunet was going to get married later that day. Veronica had become pregnant, and he _ _thought that the reasonable thing to do was to marry the girl, before her stomach got bigger _ _and her family murdered him._

_Nothing too extravagant. He just needed to say ‘I do’ and the priest to say that they were _ _husband and wife._

_And even so, he was still there, in Roger’s room, when he was supposed to be at the church._

_John started to walk around the room, his hands covering his mouth, breathing against them, _ _very anxious. He shouldn’t be there, he shouldn’t be there. So why was he there? Of course _ _John knew why._

_“I’m going to marry Veronica. I’m going to fucking marry her,” said John out loud. “But I don’t _ _want to. I don’t want her. I want you. I still fucking want you.”_

_John looked at Roger, still as usual. Not answering him. So disappointing._

_The brunet walked over to Roger and leaned his head as far as he could, looking at the _ _blond’s face, cupping it, scanning every inch. Waiting for **anything**._

_“I know I have the moral duty to marry Veronica, and you know me, I’m a traditional British _ _bloke.” John closed his eyes until he had gained some courage, opening them again. “But if _ _you wake up right now, I’ll give it up.”_

_John looked with expectation at Roger. He just needed a blink. A fucking quick fluttering of _ _his eyelashes._

_“If you wake up I won’t marry her. If you open your eyes now I’ll be with you.” He nodded, as _ _if he needed some validation of his own promise. “Just open your eyes, Rog. Open your _ _fucking beautiful eyes, my love.”_

_The bass player lingered for ten minutes, waiting and waiting. He just needed a sign that _ _what he was doing was wrong. But he didn’t get one._

_“Sir?” John looked around and saw a nurse calling him. “It’s time to bathe Mr Taylor.”_

_“Oh.” John wiped the tear that was rolling down his face. “I need to go, anyway.”_

_He knew he wouldn’t leave if he looked atRoger again, and so he just turned around and _ _walked away, feeling like the most cowardly of men._

》•《

By the time John got home, he saw Roger standing ar his front door. His heart started to race.

“What are you doing here? And how did you find my house?”John asked when he got out of the car, frowning.

“You just left, so I was worried,” answered Roger, blushing after revealing to John that he had run after him. “Freddie and Brian dropped me here.”

The two men were a little way away from them, letting them talk.

Roger passed through a sea of reporters and paparazzi to talk to him, even though he still wasn't strong enough to do it. John looked at Roger, like he was waiting for something. But for what?

“Why did you run away?” The blond inquired.

“You wrote a fucking song for me, Rog. That’s why.” John wasn’t mad or angry. He just didn’t want to deal with it just then.

But even though more than four years had passed – or even if four decades had gone by – talking about them would still hurt. He could run away for as long as he wanted, but the elephant in the room would still be there, until the moment they settled whatever they needed to settle.

“What do you want from me, Roger?” John shot, but he already knew the answer.

The same as him.

Before Roger could move forward, the front door opened, revealing a woman with short hair and thin cheeks. In her arms was a baby, who was clearly screaming in pain.

The drummer only had a few seconds to realize who they were.

“John,” Veronica said, but she looked at Roger. Her eyes stayed on him for five long seconds, and then she glanced at her husband. “Rob has a stomachache again. I don’t know what else to do. The doctor said that if he felt like this again we needed to go to the hospital.”

John looked at Veronica, and then at Roger, and then at Robert. The boy was rocking about in his mother’s arms, fully crying his eyes out.

“Let’s go then.”


	6. A sight of a light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Veronica too much for making her a villain

When the group arrived at the hospital, Robert was red from crying, the only way he could show that something was wrong. John and Veronica murmured words of comfort to the baby, knowing that they weren’t enough in that moment.

Freddie, Brian and Roger stayed in the waiting room, while the Deacons went with the doctor, who would examine the child. The frontman and the guitarist didn’t know what to say to Roger; they were sure that all of this was stressful forthe blond. But the blue eyes were staring at the door John and his family went into, waiting for some news.

An hour passed before John came back to where they were, alone. He seemed relieved. “He’s out of danger,” John said with a tired smile. “The doctor said that he needs to stay here tonight, but just for observation. You guys can go now if you want.”

“Can I see him?” Roger’s voice was faint.

The drummer would be a liar if he said he wasn’t curious to meet the little guy properly. It didn’t matter that he was John’s son with another person; he was John’s family, and so Roger wanted so badly to see his face.

The doctor said that only two people could be in the room, and so it would be Roger and Veronica.

Roger was scared as hell to meet Veronica, too, to be around the person who was his boyfriend’s wife – though Roger tried, he couldn’t think of any other way to refer to John – and that was because he had so many questions. Questions he was afraid to find out the answers to.

Roger knocked on the door before he went in. The nurses reminded him of the ones who had taken care of him, and he wanted to laugh, but seeing Veronica looking at him he felt the laughter die in his throat. It wasn’t the place, not even the time.

When she saw that it was Roger, the woman just looked down again, seeing her baby sleeping peacefully. He was no longer crying, and now Roger felt more comfortable looking at him. The boy had round cheeks and dark hair. He brushed his hand over his face sometimes, and the blond’s heart melted. He really was his dad’s son.

“Is he alright?” Roger asked, without tearing his eyes away from the baby.

“He just needs some medicine, and to rest. The doctor said that this happens all the time with babies,” Veronica responded, breathing quickly and going to sit in an armchair.

Roger allowed himself to look at her. Veronica looked like a strong woman, because he had seen mothers crying when took their kids to the hospital, and, albeit nervous, she was very focused and not panicking. Of course, because of the stress she had been through, the woman looked tired, scratching herself on the chair and struggling to keep her eyes open.

In that moment Roger asked himself whether he wasn’t just the third wheel. The remainder in the equation. And so the drummer turned back to the baby. He was napping in the hospital cot, unaware of the tension in the room, and honestly he shouldn’t have had to participate in any of this.

He wasn’t guilty of causing any of this drama, adults always making everything difficult. Robert just deserved to be a baby, with no issues to deal with.

They spent some minutes in silence, Roger admiring Robert, while Veronica looked at the wall.

“You know, Rog, I know you.” declared Veronica, out of nowhere.

“I’m in a famous band, so that’s fair,” commented Roger, playing dumb.

Veronica laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Yeah, that’s fair. But I know who you are to John,” she said, with no anger or sadness. It was like they were talking about the weather.

The weather of Veronica and John’s wedding.

Roger didn’t want to discuss that with Veronica. She shouldn’t have to be stuck in the middle of the problem, because it was something that the Queen rhythm section had to sort out themselves. Veronica was just a victim, someone unsuspecting that had come into John’s life without knowing about the baggage he was carrying.

He didn’t have any fondness for the woman. The blond just understood why she was in love with John – he had dated the man for six years and he still couldn’t fathom how everyone didn’t just fall for John immediately. He inspired trust and warmed people with his smooth voice; you couldn’t help smiling when he was talking to you, and the brunet knew how to make people blush. He was a gentleman at all times, and he made you feel good.

“I still remember the night I saw John in a pub. He was alone, looking a bit miserable, and I felt the need to talk.” Roger heard her voice, and felt guilty knowing that John had been miserable because of him. “I feel proud knowing that he looked happier after our talk. And so he asked if we could see each other again.”

She hummed and curlyed her feet, showing signs of her tiredness. Roger suddenly asked himself how long Veronica had been dealing with little Robert being ill.

“But the whole time, even when we started dating, I felt like there was something weighing on John. Like a dark cloud above him, not letting him be entirely with me,” continued the woman, in a tone so blank that reminded Roger of John. “And then I got pregnant. John will never admit it out loud, but I know he just married me because I was pregnant.” Veronica turned her gaze on Roger. “You know him, he’s an honourable man.” Roger nodded.

Another silence. The drummer still didn’t know why the hell Veronica was making this speech, while her kid was napping close to them. In a fucking hospital. Was this really the right time and the right place to talk about the man they both loved?

“And then Rob came into our lives.” Veronica stood up and walked over to look her son again, smiling when he rolled over in the cot, still asleep. “Don’t get me wrong, John loves this little thing, and he’s an amazing father to my son, but he has never looked truly happy to me.”

“Is anyone truly happy? Freud once said that full happiness doesn’t exist,” Roger shot back without noticing. It was automatic for him.

Veronica actually giggled then. “You’re sassy and smart, Roger.” The woman looked at him, admiring the drummer. “I can see why John loves you.”

Not ‘loved’, in the past tense. ‘Loves’. Present. Currently happening.

Roger kept up the eye contact, unable to look shocked at her statement. He could lie to her, but actually, what would be the point?

“You don’t even look surprised that I know that,” Veronica commented, tilting her head. Analyzing him? Thinking what to say next? He’d never know.

“Should I? John always thought that he was good at hiding things, but he never was,” the blond pointed out.

“Yeah, he never has been,” Veronica snorted. “I guess what gave him away was that he never talked about you in the past tense. Always in the present tense. Actually, you’re more present in his life that you can imagine. You’re more present in his life than me, and  
I’m literally with him.”

Veronica walked over to get a glass of water, sipping it slowly. But Roger wasn’t in a hurry anymore. He wanted to hear the woman.

“There was always a fun fact about you that John had to mention. I feel like I’ve known you for ages, even though this is our first conversation,” she said. “It’s like you’re in our home, living with us, always next to John. Once I dreamed that you were sleeping with us, in our bed.”

She was clearly trying very hard not to betray the pain in her voice, and Veronica had been doing a good job until now, but her voice cracked by the last sentence. Roger could understand that her pride was hurt because of the situation, to spill the details of how she was living with John.

It must have been very hard for her to accept the fact that her husband never was hers, and the drummer thought that she was brave to have this conversation with him without losing her mind.

“You were in a hospital room, miles away from him, but you were there, Roger. You’re always there.” Her eyes got watery, but she breathed deeply and pulled herself together. “I don’t know if he’s already told you, but he visited you every week. I would guess that the  
only time he didn’t visit you were during our honeymoon and when Robert was born.”

“At first I just thought it was because you were his mate, and I know you four were the best of friends, and Freddie and Brian told me how awful it was for John when you fell into a coma. But then I put the pieces together, and I realised that you were more than just friends. Not that John ever told me that, no, I had to find on my own.”

“We were in France when he heard that you were awake, and he spent some hours in the bedroom, not saying a word, and then I saw him take a picture of you out of his wallet. And he cried, like I had never seen him cry before. So I told him to go and see you.”

Now Roger was shocked. He had never imagined that Veronica would do that, but to be honest the woman was showing herself to be more mature than the drummer had ever thought she could be.

“But the saddest part is that we tried, maybe too hard, to make this marriage work. Not that he despises me or that he’s a bad husband, not at all. I know that he at least likes me. But I tried to make him love me, and John tried to love me. But even though you hadn’t moved a muscle in the last four years, even though there was a chance that you’d die like that, he still loved you.” And Veronica gave him a sad smile. “People think that four years is nothing, but when you’re living like this four years is a lot.”

She exhaled, like a heavy weight had been lifted from her back, and she was finally free. Roger could imagine what she’d been through; I mean, he knew that four years was a lot.

“I’m sorry, Veronica.” Roger was sorry, even though it was no one’s fault.

“No, I should say I’m sorry.” Now Veronica looked away, her cheeks reddening compared to before. “I prayed for you to die, when I figured out that John loved you. I was selfish, wanting him to be mine, but after a couple of days I understood that it didn’t matter if you were alive or dead, he’d never be mine. It wouldn’t matter if I gave him a bunch of kids and we were together until the end of our lives, John’d still be yours.”

Roger couldn’t hate her for wanting his death. Desperate moments made people dumb.

“I wanted to ask you to step away, not to look after my husband, but if I had asked you that, I would have needed to have some hope that John’s feelings for you would change, and I really don’t have any.” The woman shrugged, hopeless. “And by the way you eyes shine every time I mention his name, your feelings for John haven’t changed a bit.”

“But you can’t give up for your family, Veronica.” Roger knew how getting a divorce could break a woman’s heart; his parents’ divorce was the best thing that his mother could have asked for, but she was still hurt by it.

“Let me tell you something.” Her voice was strong again. “When I was eight, my parents had a really bad time and almost got divorced. But I, so young and stupid, thought it’d be the best if they tried again. And so I begged them to stay together. They were awful together then and they’re pretty shit together now.” Finally the tears Veronica was holding back came out, discreetly. “I don’t want Rob to think one day that he’s the reason his parents are miserable, like I do.”

The drummer’s hands started to shake. He could be devastatingly wrong, but was Veronica…

“So what happens now?” Asked Roger, feeling that he didn’t have the right to ask, but that he was anxious as hell to know.

“Ask John to drive you home. Restart from where it stopped.” And she giggled. “I guess it’s me who needs to step away. I’m the third wheel, anyway. I like John a lot, and he deserves to be happy, even if that isn’t with me.” Maybe Veronica sensed that Roger wanted to say that he was sorry, and so she added, “Hey, just go.”

Roger thought that it’d be too much hug her, and so he just gave her a big smile and left the room. When he arrived at the waiting room again, his heart was racing. He needed to find John.

The brunet was sitting alone, and informed Roger that Freddie and Brian had gone home.

“Veronica asked you to drive me home,” said Roger, trying to not express too much joy.

John thought that his wife’s request seemed weird, but he just said, “Okay.”

This ride home felt like the longest to Roger. John turned on the radio and a familiar song started to play, making the drummer smile.

“That’s my song,” said Roger, proudly, while Freddie’s voice sang ‘ooooh, you make me live’.

“I know. I wrote the song.” John rolled his eyes, but he was amused.

》•《

When John’s car stopped in front of Roger’s house, the blond felt his heart beating fast. It was stupid being nervous around the person he loved, but that was the effect that John had on him.

“Can you come inside with me?” Asked Roger, anxious.

John stayed silent for some seconds and then said, “Just for a bit,” and got out the car.

The blond’s excitement was rising with each step, and when Roger opened the front door he entered first, letting John walk in after him.

In a fast move, Roger pushed John against the wall and crushed his lips against John’s. The blond, for some crazy seconds, was afraid that he wouldn’t like kissing the bass player any more, after all the drama, but he recognized how good it was to taste John’s lips on his.

John pulled Roger away from him, surprised. “Why did you do that?”

“Veronica talked to me. She gave us her blessing,” Roger said, cupping John’s face.

He didn’t understand at first, but then the brunet opened his mouth slowly, the awareness filling his features. “She...?”

“Yes.”

“We...?”

“If you still want to.”


	7. Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Al, my friend and beta-reader, for everything. You're priceless.  
I'm not done with Dealor. There's more stories to come.

_“She...?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“We...?”_

_“If you still want to.”_

And then Roger gave John his big puppy dog eyes, something that had always won John over, ever since the first time.

The brunet replied to Roger by pulling him closer, their lips meeting again, John deepening the kiss instantly, savoring the taste of Roger’s kiss once again. They could be apart for decades, but they’d always know how to work together: Roger’s hands on John’s waist, squeezing every time John bit his lower lip, pressing on the skin with the teeth, a delicious pain that the drummer always liked to feel.

They were always in sync in everything. How to touch, which sounds to make, how to produce a shiver or how to take each other’s breath away. Unique, unbreakable. It was like coming home, feeling good again with no fear, no doubts. John humming every.time they changed the angle of their faces, their tongues touching in the need to be dominant; though they felt like they didn’t need air, their lungs protested, and so they tore apart for several seconds, breathing heavily. But the next time they could last a bit longer, looking into each other’s shining eyes. They were finding their way to happiness again.

John was still using the same aftershave. Four years later. _He must be joking_. It was like he had never left.

And when their mouths came together again, it was hungrier, finally remembering how long they’d been apart, how much need their bodies had to feel pleasure. John didn’t have room anymore, having been smashed up against the door by Roger, and the brunet could feel Roger’s cock brushing against his, both now asking for attention. The make-out was having some effects on their bodies.

John’s lips left Roger’s, making the blond whine, but soon he let a painful-sounding noise scratch at his throat, because the bass player was planting wet kisses on his neck, just the way he always liked, and John squeezed his bum, his weak spot. Maybe being fucked by John against the front door wasn’t a bad idea.

Someone cleared their throat, making both men shout in surprise. They looked towards the sound and saw an older blonde woman staring at them with her arms crossed.

“Fucking hell.” Roger put his hand against his chest, still scared. “Hi, Mum.”

“I’m too old to yell at you about making out like teens,” she said, but she didn’t sound pissed. “Hi, John.”

“Hi, Mrs Taylor.” John never been more red than he was then.

“I hope you don’t want to make my son your mistress. Because I like you and Veronica, but I like my Rog more.”

“Oh my God, Mum!” Now Roger was embarrassed, and John giggled.

“I won’t, Winifred. We’re about to have this talk.”

“Yeah, thank God you two didn’t finish the talk against the front door.” The woman pointed to where they had been. “Please, go talk in the bedroom.”

“You’re the best, Mum.” Roger laughed and blew her a kiss. “Let’s go upstairs, John.”

“Are you staying for dinner, John?” Asked Mrs Taylor.

“No. Rob is in hospital. I’ll be going back there soon,” John answered.

Roger took his hand, tangling their fingers, and they walked upstairs, to the drummer’s bedroom. They never were used to walk holding hands – homophobia never allowed them to – and the simple gesture of taking a few steps gripping each other felt great.

The blond let John enter his bedroom and they sat in front of each other on the bed. It was like the bass player was finally realising that he was free again, because his smile was growing bit by bit on his lips.

“Do we really need to talk, Deaky?” Roger asked, smirking. “What we’re doing before was more fun.”

“You rotter,” giggled John. “But yeah, we do. I mean, I have a son now.”

“That’s okay. I will love him anyway,” Roger pointed out, shrugging. Simple as that.

“But you must be uncomfortable.”

“We discussed adopting a kid many times, and I was up for that.”

“But he’s my biological kid, with someone else.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

John snorted, still amused. They had always had these kinds of arguments, John always being more rational than Roger, the blond looking on the bright side of everything. It’s a good balance, but they argued. A lot.

All those years together weren’t just sunshine and rainbows. No, they argued and fought and did everything that every couple did. Of course, they were two stubborn lions, hot-headed in their own ways, seeing the world from different points of view. Sometimes John let Roger win, sometimes Roger let John win.

Because they had something more important than being right: the feelings they had for each other.

“I missed you, Rog.” John leaned on Roger, touching his forehead to his own, feeling at peace again. “I missed you every day, every moment. A piece of me was on hold in that hospital bed, just like you.”

Roger pressed his lips to John’s again for a few seconds, feeling the brunet’s tears find their way to his mouth.

“I know time isn’t the same for us, but I missed you too.” Roger spoke after the kiss.

John felt the need to go back to the hospital, to stay the night with Robert and Veronica, and Roger understood, guiding him to the front door, giving him a peck before he left.

Moments later Freddie and Brian were there, finding a happy Roger greeting them at the door. And they were overjoyed for him when they found out the reason for his smile.

“I’m so happy for you too,” commented Freddie. “I mean, Veronica is adorable.”

“But she’s not Rog,” added Brian, knowingly. “She’s not the one for John.”

“I guess she’ll be fine with me around Rob,” Roger pointed out, still a little anxious about it. He had really meant it when he said that he’d love John’s son no matter what.

“Now let’s have dinner, because I can smell your mum’s cooking from here,” Freddie gestured, going into the kitchen.

》•《

The next day was pretty calm for Roger. He knew that John would look for him when everything was settled with Veronica and Robert was at home again. So he just enjoyed the day with Claire and his mother, dancing around with them when a song played on the radio, the women laughing with him. It was a happy day.

He was awake. He was alive.

The phone rang and Roger picked up. “Hello?”

“Hi, Rog.” The drummer smiled when he heard that smooth voice.

“Hi, babe. How is Robert?”

“He’s okay. The doctor said that some babies, when they start on solid food, can get ill.”

“Is he okay now?” Roger asked.

“He’s fine. He’s napping now.”

“How was your talk with Veronica?” Questioned the blond.

“Calmer than I imagined.” John got quiet for a few seconds. “I wasn’t good to her, letting her stay in a marriage when I never loved her. I’m so so–”

“John, no more sorrys,” Roger said firmly. “No one here is at fault, okay?”

Roger knew the man he loved so much, and he knew that John would apologize from time to time until the end of his days, and that he’d need to give this speech every time.

“I’ll talk to Miami later, so he can make up the divorce papers, and ask him to book me into a

hotel,” said John.

“Hotel? Why?” the brunet couldn’t see it, but Roger frowned.

“I don’t think it’s fair to Veronica that I stay here anymore. Her sister will stay with her for a few weeks.”

“But why do you need to go to a hotel when you can live with me?”

Another silence. Roger thought about how stupid John was sometimes. He could imagine John with his mouth open, surprised at the invite. But it was fucking obvious that they should live together again.

“Are you sure?” John wanted clarification.

“Of course. Let’s restart where we stopped. I don’t want to go back stages,” Roger replied.

“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Roger could hear his laugh over the phone.

“Yeah, I’m crazy for you, now go grab your stuff and come back here,” laughed Roger.

When they ended the call Claire was sitting next to Roger, watching her brother, who seemed happier than ever.

“What’s going on?” She asked him.

“Just my life getting back on track.” The blond gave her a peck on her cheek.

Roger was having dinner with his mother and his sister when the door bell was heard. He smiled and ran to the door.

John has two big bags with him, one in each hand, and a shy yet passionate smile on his lips.

“Home sweet home,” declared Roger, letting John come inside the house before kissing him.

They let the kiss linger until their lungs protested, the happiness evident on their faces. Roger adored seeing John’s bright green eyes stare into his.

And that was home for them: _wherever the other was_.


End file.
